I missed out on a fell walk last weekend due to work, and the prospects of walking this weekend looked back on track with sunny spells and an 80% chance of cloud-free summits, according to the mountain forecast. It's been a staggering six years since I last walked Rest Dodd and four since I was last on Brock Crags, two summits that I peered over to from The Knott back in May, where I promised myself I'd return soon.

I hate letting the lads down. When Rod emailed at the beginning of the week asking what were the plans for the weekend, with David committed to walking with Jennifer, I replied that after a particularly busy, stressful period at work, the one thought that kept me going was some fell time alone just so I could ground myself back down to earth and let the stress seep out.

Rod, of course, understood that it was just a case of keeping my fingers crossed that the forecast stuck. If the lack of summer isn't bad enough, the fact that the forecasters get so persistently wrong only adds to the frustrations, but given my mindset, I think being up in the cloud did me a world of good; it was just you and the hill. What more could a chap ask for.

I left home under blue skies, and the air was so clear I could see the Lakeland Fells from the M6 south of Leyland. By the time I had reached Lancaster, the skies were thickening with grey clouds, and the further north I drove the blue skies had disappeared in my rear view mirror. Kirkstone Pass reached the III Bell Ridge, and Red screes were all below the clouds, but I still felt positive that it would lift; after all, it was still early. Mine was the second car to arrive at the car park, the first being a VW Polo with a long Canadian canoe fastened to its roof rack. All was well.

It was a mild morning with just the gentlest of breezes in the air, but judging by the cloud it would be a wise move to pack my over-trousers, which I rolled up on the bonnet of my car along with my waterproof jacket. Anyone who knows this car park, especially during peak season, will know it's not uncommon to get blocked in, something that David knew all too well after he was forced to wait until the owner of the car who blocked him in return a couple of hours later. I could only imagine how blue the air turned. I left the car park and immediately turned right onto the concrete track, which rises behind the village, as my view opened south across a sleeping Hartsop.

By this time I'd been passed by half a dozen fell runners who despite their aches and pains were very friendly one even wishing me to 'enjoy my day' Up ahead the path steepens towards the point where my walking poles were at shoulder height.

My route back to Hartsop would see me cross Hayeswater Gill further down at the old pump house, but first, I needed to make sure the bridge hadn't been washed away; thankfully, it had, and I crossed at the same time as a couple and their dog, who had appeared from behind the stepped wall. As they had to pick up their dog, they kindly allowed me to scale the wall first, soon followed by the couple. I'd left the wind at the summits, and I'd dried out with the exception of a pair of damp feet as I began my descent back to Hartsop, sighting a group of walkers ascending the viciously steep path on Grey Crag's north side. 

More walkers were passing as I took in the view into the pasture. The bottom of the valley is still flanked by clouds on both sides. I first spotted the canoe fastened to the roof rack of the car parked next to mine before counting how many cars were now occupying the car park; amazingly, it was only ten, all parked in two neat rows, which caused a slight stomach drop and my faith in humanity to return.